


How Unworthy a Thing

by SeekingSelkies



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale is a sneaky bastard, Crowley is whipped, First Kiss, Hamlet - Freeform, M/M, References to Shakespeare, Shakespeare, Shakespeare Quotations, barely resolved sexual tension, crowley plays hamlet, this is just an excuse for me to very quickly gush about David Tennant's portrayal of Hamlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 09:01:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19170037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeekingSelkies/pseuds/SeekingSelkies
Summary: Crowley saves Hamlet by playing Hamlet, and has a very public revelation about his relationship with a certain angel.





	How Unworthy a Thing

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a frantic 'I just wanted to write and finish something inbetween work and revision and life' and this is the best I got.
> 
> Yes I am a dialogue ho.

“It will take a miracle to get anyone to come and see Hamlet!”

Aziraphale is looking at him with a question in his eyes. He loves this play. If it flops nobody will ever see it again, and it won’t be the end of the world, they both know that.

But Aziraphale will be unhappy.  
  
“Yes alright, I’ll do that one. My treat” he acquiesces, and Aziraphale’s face lights up  
“Oh, really?”  
“I still prefer the funny ones” he mutters, walking away before he gets himself in any deeper than he already is.  
  
***  
  
“Will you play upon this pipe?”  
“My Lord I cannot”  
“I pray you”  
“Believe me, I cannot”  
“I do beseech you”  
“I know no touch of it, My Lord”  
“It is as easy as lying. Govern these ventages with your fingers and thumb, give it breath with your mouth, and it will discourse most eloquent music. Look you, these are the stops”  
“But these cannot I command to any utterance of harmony. I have not the skill”  
“Why look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me. You would seem to know my stops. You would pluck out the heart of my mystery. You would sound me from my lowest note to the top of my compass. And there is much music, excellent voice, in this little organ, yet cannot you make it speak? ‘Sblood, do you think I am easier to be played on than a pipe?  
  
…oh that bastard. Oh I’m such a fool. Ohhhhhhhh I’m an _idiot_! I cannot _believe_ this!”

It’s the best night of their run so far, three thousand people packed into the theatre like sardines [1], five thousand nine hundred and ninety three pairs of eyes [2] watching the demon formerly known as Crawly rapidly unravel.  
  
“Is this part of the play?” a woman whispers to the man beside her, whose frown is currently deeper than the grand canyon.  
“Not as far as I can remember, no” he mutters back, anxiously popping another grape into his mouth.

He hadn’t expected to see him _play_ Hamlet. He’d just assumed he’d do some light demonic bullying, maybe even some cajoling, to get posteriors on seats.

And he was _good_. He knew Crowley had a little experience, with Doctor Faustus. ‘Well I could hardly say no, could I, angel? It’s about demons. I needed to promote our image’. All the restless energy he usually spent prowling around Aziraphale made him incredibly compelling as the Dane, even with those ridiculous glasses, bouncing between Rosencrantz and Guildenstern with manic grace. He’d brought a humour to Hamlet’s madness that hadn’t been there before, making it all the more heart-wrenching when the undercurrents of grief came through.

“…playing me like a celestial harp! Just flutters his eyelashes and I’m standing here night after night reciting the longest drivel I’ve heard for five and a half millennia!” he barks out a laugh, running a hand through his dark red hair, tousling it in a way which made him even more like the mad prince.  
  
“Oh well done, angel. Truly spectacular. I didn’t think he had it in him. Who am I kidding? Of course I knew. It’s why I like him so much”

Aziraphale was grateful that the crowd was dense enough to hide the blush that came to his cheeks.  
“I don’t flutter my eyelashes” he grumbled under his breath, at the same moment a ball of fungi that had once been an apple came hurtling over his shoulder and hit Crowley squarely in the chest.  
“GET ON WITH THE PLAY!” a man called from behind him.  
Will scurried onto the stage, grabbing Crowley by the arm and dragging him backstage, producing an argument of hisses that Aziraphale couldn’t make out. Rosencrantz ducked as another projectile fruit flew onto the stage, sitting cross-legged at the front. He tugged on Guildenstern’s sleeve, who joined him, the two of them looking back towards where Crowley had gone. Guildenstern pulled a coin out of his sleeve, flipping it in the air between them.  
  
“Heads” Rosencrantz declared confidently. Guildenstern raised his eyebrows, peeping at the coin.  
“Best of three?”  
“Heads” Rosencrantz declared again.  
And again  
And again  
And again  
And again

Aziraphale squinted at the actor, wondering if he too was a demon. Or lying. Or simply a statistical marvel. Crowley was thrust back onto the stage by an unseen Will, staring down the audience. Aziraphale glanced backwards to see someone hurl a pear towards the stage.  
  
Which promptly caught fire before it hit Crowley.  
  
“HE’S A WITCH!” a voice shouted, followed by an entire cart’s worth of fruit flying through the air. All of which, by some miracle, vanished. He felt Crowley’s gaze on him even through the glasses.  
  
The audience froze.  
  
“Call me what instrument you will, angel. Though you can fret me, you cannot play upon me” Crowley called out, too far away for Aziraphale to make out the expression in his eyes.

Aziraphale’s cheeks burned.

“It isn’t like that!” he protested  
“Methinks the angel doth protest too much” Crowley smirked  
“Stop it, Crowley!”  
“I’m only doing what you asked, Aziraphale”  
“Yes, well, thank you. You were doing an excellent job, until you started getting things thrown at you. I think you should get down before everyone wakes up and starts again”  
“Or, you could come up here” Crowley tipped his glasses down just a fraction, fixing those yellow eyes on Aziraphale.  
“Why?”  
“I just want to talk, angel”

“There’s nothing to talk about!” Aziraphale cried, glancing around to check the audience hadn’t gained awareness of the tiff going on in their midst  
“Oh I think there is. Come on” he held one hand out, gesturing for Aziraphale to join him. He sighed, gently pushing through the crowd towards the demon. What was he _doing?_ Crowley’s fingers clasped his, pulling him up with fluid ease. They lingered on his hand even after Aziraphale was safely onto the stage. They were warm, like the residual heat after putting down a fresh cup of tea.

They stared at each other.

“Well. What do you want?”  
“What makes you think I want anything?” Crowley asked, amused  
“You’re after something. Otherwise you wouldn’t have started this…shenanigan”  
Crowley laughed  
“First of all, you were just as involved in this ‘shenanigan’ as I was. I saw that trick with the fruit, angel. Very subtle. Secondly, did you just hear anything I said?” he took a step towards Aziraphale, clearing an absurd amount of distance so they were almost nose to nose.

Aziraphale swallowed.

“Well, I mean…”  
“I’m wise to you now, angel” Crowley stepped round him, murmuring into his left ear.  
“Stop calling me that” Aziraphale whispered back. __  
“What?” Crowley circled round to face him again, his eyes glinting behind the glasses  
“You know”  
“I really don’t think I do” he grinned  
“This isn’t a game, Crowley!”  
Crowley’s grin fell, his eyes hardening behind his glasses.  
“Isn’t it? Because from where I’m standing, you think you can just snap your fingers and I’ll come trotting to your heels to do your bidding”  
“I-“  
“Don’t deny it. You’ve been playing me for centuries. I’m a fool for not realising it sooner”  
“I didn’t, I mean, I don’t-“  
“It’s alright. ‘To be honest, as this world goes, is to be one angel picked out of ten thousand’” Crowley paraphrased in that voice he reserved only for mocking Aziraphale.  
“You’re insufferable”  
Crowley’s eyes gleamed, and like that the gap between them was infinitesimally small. Aziraphale craned his neck just a fraction, to maintain some semblance of control over the situation.  
“Am I, indeed?”  
“Of course. You’re a demon”  
“Is that why, then? You get off on having power over a minion of hell? Report it back to your superiors as one of the good deeds of the day?” Crowley’s breath tickled his nose. Aziraphale could hear both of their heartbeats, not in sync, but forming a perfect rhythm with each other, not a second's silence.  
  
Aziraphale had run out of excuses.

“Yes” he said breathlessly  
  
One hand went to grab the back of Crowley’s head, pulling him towards him.

Aziraphale felt every iota of the frustrated energy Crowley had amassed in that kiss. He twined himself around Aziraphale, who had forgotten how to pilot a corporeal form, his awareness beginning and ending with Crowley’s mouth. His teeth grazed Aziraphale's bottom lip, drawing out a noise he hadn't known angels were capable of making. He drew back slightly, making Aziraphale lean forward to chase him for another kiss. He felt his back collide with a column, and realised Crowley had pushed him to the edge of the stage. He broke away, panting. His eyes met Crowley’s, less visible in this dimly lit side of the stage, asking him a question that Aziraphale didn’t dare to answer out loud. They stood in silence, staring at each other.

Aziraphale blinked first, glancing away towards the audience and up past the roof of the globe. He brushed a hand against his clothing, as if to check it was still there.  
  
Crowley gently untangled his fingers from the folds of his jacket, taking a step away, gazing sadly at Aziraphale.

“You have too much power over me, angel” he said quietly, turning to walk to the middle of the stage.  
  
“What are you doing?”

“Well, it seems unfair not to finish the show, don’t you think?” he clicked his fingers, and the audience snapped into motion again, wondering how they had missed the entrance of the dishevelled blonde man to the left of the stage, and why he immediately left without another word.  


[1] Although for their part, sardines smelt considerably better  
[2] Thanks to several lively bar fights

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the shameless Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead addition


End file.
